


fighting in the night (& dancing in the dark)

by stevebuckiest



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Arguing, Artist Steve Rogers, Bottom Steve Rogers, Boxer Bucky Barnes, Boxing, Captain America: First Vengeance (Comics), Dock Worker Bucky Barnes, Domestic, Established Relationship, Fights, Flashbacks, For two seconds - Freeform, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Lazy Bucky Barnes, Lazy Sex, Living Together, M/M, Massage, Napping, POV Steve Rogers, Pet Names, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers, Riding, Stubborn Steve Rogers, Top Bucky Barnes, but you dont need to read it to read this, dumb ones, i always use the tfa prequel comic as inspo its who i am, thats a lot of tags sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 04:54:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29504430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stevebuckiest/pseuds/stevebuckiest
Summary: Even half beat and bruised to all hell, Bucky can’t seem to keep from teasing. “C’mon, kid,” he says, calling Steve that even now that they’re both almost old enough to be planning to have kids of their own, were that in the cards. “Gotta take care of the champion.”“Don’t go getting a big head now,” Steve grumbles, but he lets Bucky grip him without putting up too much of a fight. He’s had enough of that tonight, after all. “Maybe if you’d finally teach me how to box, I’d be the champion.”(alternatively: for once, bucky is the one who fights and steve is the one who fusses. bucky’s a boxer. steve’s a worried boyfriend. that’s about it.)
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 16
Kudos: 140





	fighting in the night (& dancing in the dark)

**Author's Note:**

> self indulgent for me and the besties. boxer bucky IS canon! look it up.

Steve got into his first fight when he was about five years old, barely 30 pounds, and just shy of three foot five. If it sounds like he was incredibly small even at that age, it’s because he was, but it was also because he was a kid, alright? Not much growing at that age to do yet, even if all the boys were already at least a little bit bigger.

He probably shouldn’t have gotten into it in the first place considering Tommy Mills was at least five inches taller and had more than one friend on his side. But what else could Steve do when he’s seen them all pulling on poor Ruthie Mcintire’s braids all day? She was too shy to say anything, and Steve may have been short, but he was _not_ shy about this sort of thing. Sarah raised him to know a bully when he saw one. 

So he’d waited until the teacher let them all go out to the schoolyard, and he had even _thought_ about letting it go because Sarah had always tried to teach him to be the bigger man- or at that point, boy- but that was before he saw Tommy walk up to Ruthie and yank on her hair again, this time so hard that she started to cry. Making a girl _cry-_ Steve had seen red, had reacted before he even knew what he was going to do. 

What he ended up doing was marching right up to Tommy, tapping on his shoulder, and less than politely telling him to stop before Steve went and sought out the teacher to take care of it. 

Tommy had shoved him then with all the childish courage of boys their age. “What, you can’t take care of it yourself, Rogers?” he’d taunted. 

Steve may have been raised to be the bigger man, but he also didn’t inherit his short temper from nowhere, and he was not about to shy away from _that_ type of talk. He’d shoved back as hard as he could, scrawny arms and upward angle be damned. He’d even got the other boy to stumble, he remembers, and there had been a brief flash of pride at that. Not because he wanted to push people around or was proud of doing so, but because he was strong enough to stand up and at least get a bully to move one step out of the way. 

One step was about as far as he got, though, because after that Tommy’s friends had flocked around close enough for Steve to be a little scared even through the stubbornness. _Fight_ might be a generous word to use for what that situation had amounted to considering none of them were older than seven or even knew yet how to throw a punch, but it had ended with Steve getting thrown down in the dirt with enough dust scraping the seat of his pants for Sarah to be fuming at the sight of it when he got home until he finally told her about what had happened. 

They didn’t yet know it then- or maybe she did, because she was his mother and at that poibt knew him better than he knew himself- but it would be the first fight of many. Needless to say, he hadn’t won that first one. But like Sarah had already told him at least a million times: _you get knocked down, you_ always _stand back up._ And get back up he did. 

It had actually been another fight that caused him and Bucky to meet, albeit about seven years later, a stretch of time long and lonely enough for Steve to have better learned how to hold his own against the bullies. But not long enough for luck to finally be on his side when it came to hitting a growth spurt- twelve years old and he was barely clearing the upper half of four feet tall. 

_Rogers the runt_ , the other boys had taken to calling him. At least this type of boy, the ones who spent about half their time shoving him into boxes in back alleys. 

But again, what else could Steve do? That time he really _hadn’t_ had a choice. They wanted him to _pay_ just to cross tenth so he could get home. 

“Eighth avenue punks like you,” Billy Hendricks had sneered. “Two bits for two ways.”

The Depression may not have hit yet at that point, but Steve was still poor. He didn’t have that type of pocket change, and even if he had, he wouldn’t have been paying those assholes anything.

He’d planted his feet so it wasn’t as easy to push him out of the way, chin jutting out and fists cocked, even as he was coughing from all the dust crowded up with the scuffle irritating his lungs. His voice still hadn’t lilted when he spoke. “Not giving you a red cent, Hendricks. Not you or your goons.” Needless to say, he hadn’t liked that, and neither had the goons in question. 

There had been some more taunting, too ill mannered to be deemed as just teasing. “Look at Rogers the runt,” one of them had said gleefully, clearly itching for a reaction everyone involved knew was bound to come. “Too dumb to know he’s beat!”

Hendricks had moved closer, knuckles already cracking. Fourteen years old and his father had finally taught him how to properly use his fists. Steve’s wasn’t around to do the same, but he would be damned if he didn’t at least _try._ “S’alright,” Billy had said, grin having Steve already gearing to get back up. “I can spend all day proving it to him if I have to. Not like I got anything else better to do.”

That’s when it had happened. That’s when _he_ had happened, a voice ringing out in the middle of the alleyway like every angel Steve’s ma had ever told him about came down in the form of a thirteen year old boy wrapped up in a blue striped shirt and slacks. 

“I’ll say,” the new boy had said, strutting up and already shoving Hendricks out of the way so hard that the other had had to scramble to step out of the way once he hit the ground. 

Hendricks, never one known to keep his trap shut, ended up sputtering in response. “Hey, why don’t you mind your own business?”

The other boy- brunette but with eyes blue enough to match his shirt, Steve noted- returned with a smile almost too calm and jabbed a thumb to point towards his own chest. “It is my business.” Then, harder, “Watching you shake down little kids every day is making me nauseous.”

Steve’d almost protested at that- he was not a _little kid,_ thank you very much, but that became second thought once he saw the brick one of Billy’s friends had aimed to crack on the mystery boy’s head while he was turned to slug Hendrick’s back down. Steve wasn’t quite sure of this guy’s motives or if he was even really on his _side_ , but he couldn’t let him get hurt like that. So he had grabbed the nearest object, a trash can lid, and brought it down hard on the other bully’s back. 

He could hold his own in a fight, mystery boy’s interference aside. He had told him as much once Billy and his posse finally ran away. “I would have worn them down eventually.”

The boy had snorted, dusting off his slacks with a barely bruised hand. “Yeah, when they died of old age.”

Steve’s hackles raised back up after that, still not sure of this other boy’s motives besides the fact he was bigger and obviously better at fighting, two traits that always seemed to result in Steve getting hurt or at best merely tossed to the ground. He’d decided to play it safe. Better to be on edge than caught off guard. “Maybe you wanna go a round or two too?” As if he’d had that much in him left with how light headed he was already feeling. 

The boy had snorted and waved off Steve’s raised up hands like he was being ridiculous. Come to find, he was. “Whoa, there, cowboy.” This time the remark _was_ a genuine tease, no taunting in his tone at all. “Holster your guns. I come in peace.” He’d launched on a little speech after that, something that Steve had never seen anyone do after a fight, but then again he wasn’t used to having someone say they were on his side. He can’t remember now exactly what all was said, but he does remember that there was a bit in there where Bucky called him a shrimp, and then an inspiration. 

Because that’s who that was- _Bucky_. Steve had found that out a moment later when they’d shaken hands, Steve wary but willing to make the introduction first. “Steve Rogers. Me and my ma live a couple streets over.”

The other boy’s grin had gleamed almost too easy for the grimy alley they were in, grip tight. “Good to know you, kid,” he’d said. “James Buchanan Barnes.” Then, grinning even wider in a way that made Steve wish he’d stick around and jabbing a thumb towards himself again, “But my friends call me Bucky.”

By some unknown miracle, Bucky _had_ stuck around even after Steve tried to deck him mere moments after they met. Even after he saw Steve get in about a dozen more fights, he still wanted to be his friend. It was confusing, but for once in his life, Steve didn’t want to protest except when Bucky took it upon himself to try and protect him. But like Steve wouldn’t stop fighting, Bucky wouldn’t stop fussing. Neither of them have to this day. 

Bucky did more than just stick around, really. He’s slipped his way into Steve’s life (and a few other things) so deep that Steve doesn’t think there’s every any hope of weeding him out, even if he’d ever want that. He wouldn’t. Bucky’s more than just his best friend, much more than just his first one. He’s _everything_. That’s about the only word Steve can use to explain what they share without getting them both tossed into a cell, but it doesn’t matter if it’s eloquent as long as he and Bucky both know it’s real. 

They’re no longer twelve and thirteen or anywhere near that- it’s been ten years since they met. Steve turns twenty two in about a month. Bucky’s already twenty three, and Steve suspects that the other man is saving something up for his birthday when they both know they shouldn’t spare it. Their apartment isn’t of the highest quality, but the cost it takes to live there sure is. Their finances have been a bit… tight lately, even by their standards. Still, even with Steve’s pestering, Bucky won’t budge. 

Steve hates it, but he sure loves him. 

This situation seems a little backwards, though- Usually Bucky is the one that’s fussing every time Steve gets into a fight (funny, considering how they met), but lately, that hasn’t been much the case. Steve’s still recovering from a fever, so regularly leaving the apartment- let alone to get in a _fight-_ is pretty far from his mind, whereas Bucky… well, boxing has apparently become _more_ than just a hobby, at least where money comes to mind. 

Steve sighs and wrings out a cloth to drape over the bowl he has placed by the bed in preparation for when Bucky finally makes his way back home. He’s out for the evening, and part of Steve wishes he didn’t know doing what. For once, it’s not dancing or with a dame- not that he’s seen much of that second part of things since he and Steve properly kissed. But part of Steve, even with all the past pining and jealousy in mind, wishes he were doing just that. Better to hurt mentally than have the man he loves hurt on the outside. 

Bucky’s been doing a hell of a lot lately. Steve doesn’t like to think of this as getting a taste of his own (proverbial) medicine, but maybe that’s what this is- because if this is how Bucky feels watching him come home bloody from a scuffle and scraped to all hell, Steve has no idea how he manages. For once, he thinks he understands the reason for all the fussing. 

When Steve hears footsteps starting to drag their way up the steps outside, he grits his teeth, already knowing what damage he’s supposed to expect. 

Bucky’s been a member at the Y for about half as long as they’ve known each other. He’s the exact type of member they want in their ranks, after all. A young man from a Christian household, and now, years later, the three time West Side YMCA welterweight champ. Those are his official titles, at least. The ones he’s won on the books. The type of match he’s about to march in the door from isn’t about to land him in the headlines of any paper unless it’s from the police finally busting their little street ring up making the news. 

Steve’s not exactly sure how Bucky got into it- Goldie’s on the outside looks respectable, or as respectable as anywhere they can afford to go nowadays gets. Bucky doesn’t even have to pay the manager for a membership. The man had taken one look at him and all those titles and decided the champion Cyclone giving his gym a good rep by going there in the first place was payment enough. Bucky doesn’t use the rings at the Y as often now, not with how much closer Goldie’s is to their neighborhood. 

Somehow, that hadn’t stopped him from finding a fair amount of matches to fight. He’d tried to hide it at first, but they both know Steve’s always been nosy, and Bucky hates having secrets from him especially now that they’re sweethearts. Besides, it wasn’t exactly hard to notice the bruises and black eyes when they’ve been sharing a space since Steve was nineteen years old. Bucky’s never been a lights off kind of guy when they’re in bed, either, and he’s definitely never been shy about his body. He’s never had a reason to be, at least until now. 

It had taken a week of Bucky skirting around taking off his shirt for Steve to finally confront him about all his suspicions. He knows Bucky better than anyone, and the fear of Bucky two timing him has never been a bother before, but that first week… he did worry. He didn’t know what else to think, other than Bucky might be hiding marks from spending all those nights out with someone else. Turns out he was at least partially right- Bucky was hiding marks, but they weren’t from a woman’s mouth or nails down his back. 

_Underground boxing rings._ Steve knew about shit like underground bars in Prohibition when they were growing up, and is definitely well acquainted with the queer clubs that they try and risk going to when they can just to get the chance to be a normal couple in public for once in their lives. But underground boxing? He didn’t see that one coming. 

He supposes now that it makes sense. Bucky never boxed for his main source of income or much money at all before this, but there were men who did, and that must have seen a decline because of the Depression as much as anything else. Most people can’t afford to buy sugar, let alone go pay to see a sport, and even if they could, baseball is much more popular than boxing. No money to pay the boxers when matches are open to the general public… it makes sense. 

Men are much more willing to hand over money for a bet rather than general admission just to see two people box for a prize that they can’t take part in. According to Bucky, the underground matches give them the chance to do just that. It’s a winner take half sort of situation. Almost all the fighters are men looking for matches that’ll make them an extra spot of quick cash. Bucky is no exception. 

That’s why Steve hates that he does this besides the fact that he comes home hurt. Bucky’s doing this in part because of _him_. That had been the first protest he made when Bucky finally caught wind of what Steve’s worries had him thinking- he’d rather Steve know he was in the fights than think he’d step out on his fella, he’d said. 

It was a small comfort considering there was no changing his mind about the fights to matter what Steve tried to say. Bucky’s always been about as stubborn as him, just much better at getting his way. That had worked this time, too, but with a couple of conditions that Steve had made Bucky swear to let him see through. He’s about to carry them out now, if Bucky’s not ready to pass out as soon as he steps through the door. 

Steve’s waiting on the couch when he finally does, perched with perpetually cold hands tucked under his thighs to keep from freezing. Poor circulation is a bitch even when it isn’t the winter. Bucky’s smile is warm enough once he comes into view to keep the cold away anyways. 

“Hey, honey,” he says, voice raspy and rough in the way Steve usually would love to hear if he didn’t know what it’s from. “I’m home. Miss me?”

Steve stands, flexing his fingers by his sides before standing on his toes to give Bucky a kiss, exhaustion having the other man hanging his head enough for that to be an easier feat than usual. “Always miss you when you’re gone, you big mook,” he murmurs, letting Bucky gently drop his bag by the door to bear hug him around the waist instead, summer sun swept in from the outside seeping into his skin where it’s still warm on Bucky’s body. It’s barely 9PM, but it feels like it’s later with how long he’s been alone in the apartment. “You come off tonight okay?”

That’s really code for _did you win?_ at this point, which Bucky answers to with a tired nod and kiss against the top of Steve’s head. He lets go and heads towards the kitchen to rinse his hands, smelling like salt and sea from the docks on top of the stink that always stays with him after boxing. “Won three rounds in a row,” he says, smiling proudly. “Got us enough tonight to equal two week’s worth of pay.”

As much as Steve doesn’t like the matches, he’s proud too. Bucky’s always been so good- the _best-_ at things, whether that be getting girls, his grades, or in this case, laying guys on the ground. He doesn’t know why a catch like Bucky would want someone like him, but he’s happy to have him however he managed it. 

He smiles back slightly and follows Bucky to the bathroom where he goes to wash up his neck as well, shedding his shirt into the corner as soon as he steps up to the sink. Steve has cloths to soak at any bruises already laid out in the bedroom, but he doesn’t mind watching him wash up a bit as well. Even when he’s fresh off a fight, Bucky is beautiful, five o’clock shadow and curve of his bare back as he bunches the towel up to dry off his neck a sight to behold. Steve relishes it and files the mental image away to draw later if he remembers- first, he has his own amount of fussing to do. He has a fella to help take care of in the ways that conditions will allow him. 

Bucky knows that’s part of the bargain about him being able to openly do this now that Steve knows, so it’s with a languid stretch and arm tossed over Steve’s shoulders that he leads them both towards the bedroom. It’s a routine, by now, one they both fall into comfortably. 

Even half beat and bruised to all hell, Bucky can’t seem to keep from teasing. “C’mon, kid,” he says, calling Steve that even now that they’re both almost old enough to be planning to have kids of their own, were that in the cards. “Gotta take care of the champion.”

“Don’t go getting a big head now,” Steve grumbles, but he lets Bucky grip him without putting up too much of a fight. He’s had enough of that tonight, after all. “Maybe if you’d finally teach me how to box, _I’d_ be the champion.”

Bucky snorts. Steve’s been asking for a while- he might know how to hold his own from the experience he’d gained growing up getting in and out of fights near five times a day, but that’s nothing compared to what he knows Bucky could teach him if he’d take the time. He waits until they’re in the bedroom to answer, gingerly getting up on the mattress and waiting for Steve to set up beside him with a damp cloth already in hand to hold over the red mark streaked up the side of his chest. 

“Me training you means you’d actually have to _listen_ ,” he says, bringing up a hand to snag Steve’s chin and give it a playful shake, like he’s a puppy and not a nearly full grown person try to fuss over him after a fight the way they’ve done so switched around a million times and then some. “And we both know that isn’t your strong suit, sweetheart. Not unless you’re feeling like it.”

Steve scowls and almost smacks him, but remembers he’s most likely sore at the last secord. He settles on glaring at him instead, not mad so much as annoyed on the base level Bucky’s used to by now. He’s not phased by it much anymore, hence the chuckle. 

He pats Steve’s cheek and drops his hand back down to rub at Steve’s back through his shirt where the smaller man is slightly hunched to help inspect his sides where he can see bruises already starting to form. “Maybe one day. When you’re not still recovering, yeah?” He tugs on his hair. “You’re supposed to be resting up, not playing nurse.”

“My ma taught me a few things,” Steve shoots back, heart only panging slightly at how much he still misses her. “Besides, I let you play nurse on me all the time.” It’s not a _let_ so much as a _need_ but Bucky at least has the sense enough to not say that out loud, thankfully. “You look like you need it right now, anyways. Christ, Buck, who’d you fight? A mountain lion?”

He just shrugs best he can laying down, and watches Steve wipe a cloth over a small wound on his ribcage where a scrape has barely broken skin. “Hey, pal, I’m always cleaning up your scraps. It’s only fair I get to have some too.”

Steve frowns, but doesn’t lose focus on the work he has left to do. “Wouldn’t call that a scrap, Buck,” he says softly. “Shouldn’t let yourself suffer. Not for money.” He presses his lips together, but the _not for me_ that goes unspoken still hangs in the silence between them regardless. 

Bucky sighs, but doesn’t argue back. That’s a discussion that’s already been had. “A few more weeks and I won’t be doing this anymore,” he settles on instead. That was one of the conditions he’d set up for Steve through his own suggestion. 

He’s promised to stop in time for Steve’s birthday- _So I have the stamina to celebrate with you properly_ , he’d joked, but Steve knows it was more to ease his mind than anything. 

“We almost have enough for this month _and_ next month’s rent with a little to set aside for a rainy day. Plus whatever extra pay your comics get Mr. Carlton to give you.” He peers over Steve’s shoulder to his side of the dresser. “You pick up the paper?” 

He’s always asking to see it when they know some of Steve’s sketches have been put in and published, whether they be adverts in the back pages or comics when the paper can’t afford to licence actual artists that month. Steve smiles, only a bit shy. It’s sweet Bucky supports his art, even when they both know it’s near impossible for him to make a career from it. 

“It’s out on the table,” he says, setting aside the cloth he’d been using in favor of a clean one. “You want me to go get it? I have some dinner heated up for you waiting in the oven anyways.” He closes his eyes when Bucky brushes his bangs back out of his face unprompted, calluses rough against his cheek. “Just beans again, but I got some us some bread, too. Grocer was gonna throw it out because it’s tough, but it tastes good enough.”

“Gimme another kiss and I won’t worry about how anything else tastes, how about that?” Bucky’s words are hushed, though the want on his face is anything but, and Bucky might say Steve never listens- but that isn’t true. He loves him enough to give in to anything he wants as long as he looks at him so gentle. 

He dips down, sighing into Bucky’s mouth moving soft against his own, hand slipping down to set over Bucky’s chest while the brunette’s clasps over the back of his neck behind him. It’s not the longest kiss, but it’s a good one, Bucky practically groaning by the time they both pull away. Though that might be more because of his muscles than anything. 

Steve smiles and brushes his own bangs back this time. “Still want that dinner and the paper?”

“Sounds good,” Bucky stretches, groaning again with biceps bulging up above his head and abdomen arching so the softness of his stomach digs into his waistband underneath. Steve watches, suddenly feeling a bit hungry himself despite eating more than enough when he had dinner two hours ago. Bucky catches him looking and doles out a wink that has Steve flushing as he finds his way off the bed. “Lemme take a breather, cowboy,” he calls. “Then you can ride to your heart’s content.”

“You’re awful!” Steve tosses back, face only flashing hotter when he opens the oven to get Bucky’s dinner out and set it on the stove while he turns to grab the paper. Winifred must have let him listen to too many westerns on the radio growing up, because Bucky hasn’t stopped using that line of teasing on him since the day they first met. 

Bucky waits until Steve’s come back in the room to reply, most likely to keep the neighbors from listening. “You love me anyways.” At Steve’s soft smile, he holds a hand up and beckons him closer to the bed. “C’mere.” Steve does, setting the plate and paper on the nightstand next to where Bucky’s balled up the now dirty cloths and shoved the bowl to the side to make space. 

Normally neither of them like to eat in the bed unless one of them (usually Steve) is sick- crumbs are like a calling card for rodents to get in, and Steve’s only an alley cat in the comparative sense. But, with Bucky as beat as he is, Steve thinks they can make an exception. Even if it’s just a small one. 

With Bucky more sat up now, there’s a space for Steve to sit right against his side. He climbs up and does so, content to loll his head on the other man’s shoulder as he watches him read. There’s not much good news- never seems to be any lately- but Bucky still hums a couple times, thumbing the pages apart, half dressed and lazy while he does so in a way that makes Steve ache at what they have to do to be able to have this.

It’s worth it, always will be- but still. Sometimes he wishes, is all. Wishes for a lot of things. More food on the table. A better body. A bigger bed. He’s content with what he has- how could he not be when Bucky is the best part of that?- but sometimes he wishes he could take care of things the way he wants to as well. 

He might not love it the way Bucky does, having not been brought up in a big family or even raised to provide for more than two. He might not crave _that_ kind of control so much as the control to make the big picture better, contribute just as much as the next man, but still. Sometimes…

He’s not sure when exactly it happens, but the lull in their evening while he watches Bucky read the paper has him succumbing to the urge he’s had all afternoon to rest his eyes. He hasn’t done too terribly much today, but his fever had only properly broken a few days ago, and while he had wanted to wait for Bucky to get home before doing so- he can admit he’s tired. He doesn’t mean to, but somewhere between murmuring to Bucky about the comics he’d been commissioned this week and acknowledging to himself that he's tired, he nods off and finds himself falling fast asleep with his head still leaning into Bucky’s shoulder. 

-

When Steve is tired enough, almost nothing can wake him up. Not even Bucky’s damn snoring from all the Lucky Strikes he smokes (though sometimes Steve still finds himself sleeping with his bad ear up just to tune it out when it gives him trouble). Tonight, though, all it takes is Bucky letting out a sharp swear as he tries to shift away from where Steve is still propped up against his side. 

He jerks his head up, narrowly missing Bucky’s jaw, and Bucky swears again at the sudden start. “Jesus, Stevie,” he says, like Steve hasn’t been conked out for at least the last hour based on how dark it now is outside. “I know you’re the one with all the heart trouble here, but try not to give mine an attack, would you?” 

All Steve can do for a moment is blink in response, and Bucky sighs before ruffling his hair. The paper and plate are now on the nightstand too. Bucky must have been letting him sleep, and he feels a slight pang of guilt at that. He was supposed to be taking care of Bucky, and he quite literally fell asleep on the job. Talk about embarrassing. 

He still feels slightly sluggish, but scrubs at his eyes before answering, voice scratchy with how silent he’s been. “How long was I out?”

Bucky shrugs, rubbing at his chest with the arm that isn’t currently looped around Steve’s back. “Not that long. Long enough for me to finish the paper. I was just about to go put the dishes in the sink when you woke up.” He kisses his hair before starting to shift again. “I’m gonna go get on that.”

Steve would let him, but the wince Bucky lets out has him holding out a slender wring to stop him in his tracks. “Buck,” he says, voice quiet to keep the worry from coming through. “You hurting still?”

Bucky doesn’t answer directly, which is how Steve knows the answer is yes. “Just sore, sweetheart.” He gives him a halfhearted smile. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it.”

Steve’s eyes narrow. Now he’s trying to distract him with lines he knows Steve normally would bite his head off at? Something is definitely still bothering him. “ _Bucky._ ”

“ _Steve_.” Bucky’s eyes only soften once Steve’s gaze turns pleading, which is a dirty trick they know he doesn’t often like to use outside of certain situations. Usually this would not be one of them, but with as worried as he is… Bucky sighs and his shoulders roll with the hand he rubs over his neck. “I’m fine. Really. I just hit the ground harder than usual a couple times and things are a little tougher to shake when you’re back is sore all over, you know?”

Yeah, Steve definitely knows that better than anyone thanks to how fucked up his own spine is without having to hit the ground at all. He doesn’t tell Bucky that out loud, though, choosing to twist his wrists in his lap and give him a long look instead. He’s not exactly sure how to make this better short of letting Bucky go take the shower they know he’ll have to sometime before tomorrow morning. But he knows he _wants_ to. 

He worries at his bottom lip so long that Bucky leaves to go the kitchen and is back before Steve even fully realizes he had gone anywhere at all, all while Steve is still trying to solve the problem, whose source steps back in front of him to break the settled down silence. 

“How about we go to bed?” He asks, already unbuckling his belt and making it very hard for Steve not to start staring again as his stomach ripples into the movement. It doesn’t get any easier when Bucky sheds his pants and turns to toss them in the hamper of dirty clothes already sitting by the small closet they share, muscles on his back flexing as well. “If you can stomach how much I stink, I’ll take a shower tomorrow morning. You wiped me down pretty clean already.”

“You stink all the time anyways,” is Steve’s automatic response. Then, more tentatively, “Think I could give you a backrub first?”

Bucky turns to him and blinks. “A backrub?” he repeats, like he hadn’t heard it the first time. 

Considering _he’s_ the one hard of hearing between them, Steve knows he did. He crosses his arms and curls up a little in on himself. “Yeah.” If he sounds a little defensive it’s because he feels that way. Bucky looks surprised. What’s there to be surprised about? Bucky’s given _him_ massages before. Many, thanks to his shitty spine and rheumatic fever that never seems to fade away. 

Bucky’s silent enough for Steve to get uncomfortable, but his next words come out gentle. “I know you haven’t been feeling well…”

Steve’s on guard immediately at the tone the other man takes. This time it’s his turn to take his usual position in these types of situations. “I’m fine, Buck. It was just an under the weather week.” They both know it was a bit more than that with the medicine Bucky’d had to hurry for him to take, but Steve won’t say anything if Bucky doesn’t. 

Unfortunately, Bucky does. “Stevie… a couple sore muscles aren’t gonna kill me.”

“But those boxing matches might.” The retort is said so suddenly that Steve feels like it’s spit out, sitting in the space between them so heavy that the force of it landing is what causes Bucky to draw a breath and move back. Or maybe that’s just Steve, too much to handle as usual. 

He knows that’s not how it is, but sometimes, that’s how it feels. How _he_ feels. 

He takes in a deep breath and tries again, calmer this time. “Buck, if you get hurt out there… I’m gonna feel like part of that is because of me no matter what you try and say.” He doesn’t mean for his voice to crack, but it does, and that’s what gets Bucky to step closer again. “Please just let me try and take care of you where I can. I’m not gonna try and persuade you to not do what you want, but _please_.” He looks at him, eyes held wide so that the words he can’t manage to say out loud are at least showing somewhat through there. “You gotta let me do something to keep you as safe as you’re always trying to make me.”

Bucky’s back on the bed now, kneeling up to wrap Steve in a hug that has his face shoved against the bare skin of his stomach. “Jesus, Stevie,” he gets out, hoarsely, hand already fitting into his hair to hold him closer. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know-“ he stumbles for a moment, something that almost never happens when it comes to speaking. “I didn’t know that this was making you feel this way,” he finishes. “Didn’t know _I_ was…”

Steve shakes his head, answer spoken directly into his skin where he’s still clinging. “S’not you, Buck,” he says. 

Bucky laughs and tugs his head back enough for their eyes to meet before he can go on. “If you try and feed me that same _it’s not you, it’s me_ nonsense I gave Rose Montgomery in ninth grade, you’ll be spending the night on the floor.” It’s an empty threat and they both know it, but Steve still shuts up anyways. “You wanna give me a backrub, go right ahead. Far be it from me to say no to your hands anywhere on my body no matter how bruised up it is.” He chuffs Steve chin again the same way he’d done earlier, smile easy even while his body must still be sore. “How do you want me, honey?”

Steve blows out a breath and has to consider. He hadn’t thought past getting Bucky to agree to a massage in the first place, but it can’t be that hard, not with how many he’s received himself. Eventually, he scooches to the side and gestures for Bucky to lay down. “On your front?” he’s hesitant, but Bucky does as he’s directed without issue.

Bucky pillows his head on his folded forearms with a groan at the stretch it gives him. “If you need something to make it easier, I’m sure the Vaseline would work, but since I’m not gonna shower until tomorrow…” He doesn’t sound partial to the proposal that he goes to bed stickier than anything but sweat. 

Steve nods. “No Vaseline.” Then, after a pause. “At least not for this.”

Bucky laughs, almost too loudly for how late it’s getting to be, not stopping even when Steve climbs to sit up on top of him, straddled over his back. They could never do this the other way around with how tiny Steve’s body can be (not that there will ever be acknowledgement to that out loud), but there’s at least one perk to that. Makes Bucky’s backside much easier to perch on for this kind of work. “You trying to suggest something there, Steve-o?”

Steve smiles to himself, already sliding his hands up Bucky’s back, his own palms smooth of calluses. “If you’re not too tired after I get your back worked out.”

Bucky hums, sighing at the feeling of Steve’s fingertips digging into the meat of one well muscled shoulder. “Don’t suppose I could persuade you to let me lay there while you do all the work, could I?” For someone who’s just asking, he sure sounds a little power drunk already. But that’s how he always is when he’s laid back or fresh off winning a fight- acting like a lazy god and not just a dock grunt who boxes in his free time. 

As much as Steve loves to smack him for it, _sometimes_ he lets him have it as well. This is going to be one of those times, Steve suspects. 

He doesn’t have to let the other man know that yet, though. He kneads his knuckles into the small of Bucky’s back, barely concealing a blush at the noise it elicits until he remembers Bucky can’t see him and he doesn’t have to conceal it at all as long as his voice remains steady. “Maybe you could.”

“That’s my man,” Bucky’s reply drifts up dreamily. Steve’s stomach flips at the nickname even more than the sight of Bucky still sweaty with muscles bulging had made it move earlier. He’s always eager to hear that he’s Bucky’s wherever and whenever he can, because those opportunities are hard to come across besides behind closed doors. Bucky groans again at a particularly good grind of Steve’s palm against what must be soreness under his skin. “Christ, you’re pretty good at this. Maybe I oughta bring you with me next time, make you my ring girl.” He corrects the terminology before Steve can even tense up on top of him. “Ring _boy_ , but you get the gist.”

Steve deflates from where he’d puffed up in preparation to get defensive. He knows Bucky knows he’s not a girl, but that line of teasing can still get under his skin sometimes with how he grew up with it being thrown at him in less than tender ways. “Yeah?” he murmurs, making sure he’s hit both of Bucky’s shoulders before working up next to do the areas below the back of his neck. “I’d rather you _buy_ me a ring, but if this is the only way you teach me how to box…”

There’s a small part of his heart that pangs at the thought of Bucky being able to give him the ring they both know they can’t _really_ have, but he smiles when Bucky huffs underneath him anyways. “You trying to butter me up with a backrub, sweetheart?” he says, lifting his head up, apparently able to tell Steve is nearing the end now that his hands are slowed down to stroke idly at his sides. 

Steve leans down to kiss between his shoulder blades as fast as his spine will let him. “Is it working?”

“Let me turn back over and we’ll see.” Steve grins and does just that, clambering over to the side so Bucky’s free enough to roll again to lay flat on his back, this time with Steve on his lap looking down at him with about as much love he feels like his heart can handle being full with. Bucky’s looking up at him the exact same way.

They’ve both had a rough week. They’re both tired, sore, sick, every hardship in between- but they’re them. They’re still here, because if that’s what it takes, that’s what they’ll do. 

Steve tries not to squirm once Bucky’s hands come up to rest on his waist, his own hands flat on the skin above Bucky’s happy trail instead. “You feel any better?” He wants to hear if he did his job right. 

Bucky nods, gratitude looking genuine as he does so, enough for Steve to settle down on him fully. “Fixed me right up,” he says, fingers finding the skin above Steve’s waistband where he’s still got his shorts and shirt on so they can slip underneath. “What’d a guy like me do to deserve a fella like you?”

Smiling softly, Steve leans down to kiss him, Bucky’s free hand fitting its way into his hair. “Think you broke up a fight between a scrappy kid and some bullies,” he tells him after, only pulling away so that Bucky can bring up the hem of his shirt to help take it off. Looks like they both know where this is going. “Pretty sure you saved me then insulted me right after, but you were pretty cute, so I let you stick around.”

Bucky snorts. They both know it wasn’t just him who trailed around after. “I was just being honest. You _did_ try to punch me.” Currently, he takes it upon himself to pinch at Steve’s nipple once his chest is bared just to enunciate his point. What Steve mostly picks up on is the fact that Bucky is an _asshole_. 

He makes a sound of disagreement, then pleasure when Bucky brushes back over the spot again with a gentler touch. “I only held my fists up!”

“And your form was _terrible_.” Bucky bats Steve’s hand away when it comes up to try and pinch him in retaliation, smile tired but so wide his eyes crinkle at the sides enough for Steve to want to smile right back. “Maybe I do need to give you a few lessons.” He grips Steve’s hip harder, eyes going half lidded. “Later, though. How about making good on that _maybe_ you gave me earlier?” He props one arm up behind his head, the other still toying with the edge of Steve’s underwear, already as laid back and lazy as Steve suspected he would be. 

Personally, Steve’s feeling pretty keyed up. Maybe that nap was a good idea, because with his blood flow it’s almost never this easy to get him going, but as things are now…

He shifts his hips and sighs at the friction he can feel building as Bucky firms up underneath him, underwear the last layer between them both. “You want me to ride you?” The words come out soft and a little shy. Even after all these years together and all the sex that’s been had between them, it never stops feeling like something special. 

Bucky’s grin is as cocky as what Steve can feel pressing against his ass. “That’s the idea, cowboy,” he says, smug and a little stern. “You gonna get to it or what?”

Steve huffs out a breath that hitches when Bucky reaches out to rub over where they can both see his erection straining at the front of his shorts. “Just gimme a second to get the slick,” he says, maybe a bit easier than he usually would if it weren’t for the days that they’ve both had. As things are, he thinks they’re both tired of fighting for now. He’d rather just let himself _feel_. 

Bucky lets him lean over to the nightstand where the Vaseline is tucked inside the drawer, but doesn’t let go with the hand he has still clutching at his hip. The other is still behind his head, and when Steve sits back up straight (or as straight as his spine allows, anyways) on him, he can’t help but get a bit distracted by the sight of his bicep straining. 

There’s a reason Bucky’s such a good boxer. Even before taking work down at the docks, he was strong, self assured enough to blow through the competition with all the charm he carries in his private life as well as the public. They don’t call him the Cyclone for nothing. And now that he is a dockboy- when it comes to his class, he’s almost impossible to beat, all that muscle from the manual labor he does making him even better than he was before. 

Part of Steve is a little envious of that, but the rest- well, the rest just can’t get enough. But then again, he never can, not when it comes to Bucky. 

It’s because of this that he doesn’t waste time in moving to take off his shorts, setting the slick down on Bucky’s chest for the older man to pop open and start warming up between his fingers as he does so. So much for Steve doing all the work- it looks like Bucky is taking a few matters into his own hands. Or fingers, at least. 

Once his shorts are off, Steve has to take a second to get his confidence back up before he can climb back on top of Bucky. He’s past the point of being ashamed of his body in front of him (it’s hard to be when the guy has changed his bedpans and seen his asshole, for Christ’s sake) but sometimes he still shies away a little. Someone seeing his body and _wanting_ it is something he doesn’t think he’ll ever fully get used to, not after going so long getting used to thinking otherwise. 

It’s Bucky crooking his fingers that gets him to settle back down, grey eyes fixed on his dick and deep voice gentle when it comes out. “Sweet thing like you letting me love on you never gets old, you know that?” He brings his other hand, the dry one, down to link with Steve’s own on top of his thigh only inches away from where Steve wants his touch most. “Every rough day I have is worth it, s’long as I got you waiting for me when I get back home.” 

Steve’s heard many words used to describe him and his temperament, but _sweet_ is one that’s ever only come from Bucky’s mouth. It says something, though he’s not exactly sure what. Maybe that sweet is something he only _is_ for Bucky when no one else is around to see. It’s their secret, just how soft a spitfire like Steve Rogers can be. 

He’d like to tell Bucky just how much that means to him, but can’t quite find the words. He settles on using only three instead, the ones that are almost always on his mind when Bucky’s by his side. “I love you.”

Bucky smiles and squeezes his hand, expression so affectionate that Steve almost forgets he’s naked with Bucky about to open him up underneath him. “I love you right back, Stevie.” They share a soft look for a moment, but all moments have to end sometime, especially between men with who each have erections the other has promised to take care of. This one is finished with Bucky wiggling his fingers and giving Steve a sordid wink. “Scooch up so I can get you nice and loose for me, yeah?”

“So much for you just laying there,” Steve says under his breath, but soon enough, he obeys and is rewarded by the first of Bucky’s fingers circling around his rim while those of his other hand wrap around his cock. “ _Oh-_ “

Bucky’s busy slipping his middle finger into Steve’s body, but that doesn’t seem to stop him from responding. He just hums in agreement, like Steve had made a point instead of a small sound of pleasure. “That feel good?” he murmurs, rubbing his thumb over where Steve is still gripping his hand tight. “Me filling you up?”

“Not much in me yet,” Steve manages, trying to snark back only to let out a noise that’s akin to a sob when Bucky takes that as a signal to start inserting a second finger to already push in alongside the first. “Oh, _fuck_.”

“Not doing that much yet, sweetheart,” Bucky mocks, throwing his own tone back at him. It’s not unkind, but he still is wearing a shit eating grin when Steve glares down at him with eyes dewy from the sting of both fingers searching inside for his sweet spot. A moment later, Bucky finds it, and Steve is crying out soft again. “There we go. Work yourself on them, c’mon.” He stills his fingers and shushes the sad sound Steve makes the loss. “You wanted to complain about me not just laying here, didn’t you? So why don’t you go ahead and just do it yourself?” 

Steve groans. Bucky’s a jerk. The biggest on this side of the Hudson, it feels like. “Bucky…”

Bucky twists his fingers, but refuses to fuck them deeper, giving Steve a look that doesn’t suggest he’ll be budging. Stubborn _bastard_. When Steve said he’s good at getting his way, he meant it. 

Tonight is no different. Maybe it would be were Steve not hard enough to drive nails, but as conditions and his cock are proving, protesting won’t get him anywhere faster playing along will. So, with all the grace someone with his bone structure can muster, Steve starts to grind back on the fingers Bucky is holding ramrod straight inside him in search of the spots that have yet to see touch tonight. It’s a bit difficult considering he’s not exactly got the smoothest joints in the world to work with, but eventually Bucky has enough mercy to crook his fingers to the side, and that paired with a particularly good press has Steve seeing stars. 

“Fuck,” the timbre of his voice is wobbly, only worsening when Bucky starts to work a third finger to press in tight with the prior two already tucked inside. It’s not too much, but it is a lot, and Steve is greedy for every bit. 

Bucky’s drinking his noises in the same way, eyes about as dark as the bruises still blooming on his body. “You tell me when you’re ready,” he rasps out, hand still curled possessively around his cock, no longer moving. Just _holding_. It’s a display that has Steve so hard it hurts. 

He still waits another few moments spent making sure he’s opened up enough to answer- he’s eager and he’s stubborn, but he knows that if Bucky found out he ever hurt him, they won’t be having sex for _weeks_. He’d rather not bring that upon himself, so he rides back on Bucky’s fingers, relishing the feeling until finally he swallows back a moan and grabs the attention of the man underneath him by pressing a thin hand down on his chest. 

“M’good,” he says softly, just so Bucky can hear it. He knows he likes that, just as much as Steve likes this next part. 

Bucky’s hum is fond, fingers slipping free to fumble with the Vaseline once more. “‘Course you are, baby. The _best_.”

Steve sighs, hips no longer gyrating like they had been before, but still subconsciously working down to rub on Bucky’s stiff cock nonetheless. “Sap.”

That gets him another hum and a hand stretched up to tug his bangs, fallen into his face. “I can’t help I got the finest fella in all of Brooklyn in my bed.”

The praise gets Steve feeling shy, even as he’s snipping back with a smile and a flush that isn’t just from the knowledge that he’s about to be fucked. “Sweet talker.” Bucky’s always a bit ridiculous with it even when they aren’t in bed.

Case and point proven as soon as he opens his mouth. “Always gonna sweet talk my sweetheart.” He smiles at Steve, soft, even as he’s reaching out with re-slicked fingers to rub over his rim and dip into his entrance to make sure he’s ready past the verbal confirmation. Fussing, even when he’s about to fuck him. 

Steve huffs, and finds at least a _little_ fight back in him tonight to go along with it. “I’m ready, Barnes. You gonna let me ride you or what?” He’s trying to sound stern- or as stern as he can get when Bucky’s got him like this- but the effect is cut short by the choked off whimper he lets out when Bucky smacks the flat of his fingers to land over his hole. 

Bucky chuckles, dark and deep. “You need to grab a condom, eager beaver?” They don’t often use one- Bucky’s not bedding anyone else these days, and Steve’s never done it with anyone else besides him anyways. Not to mention that the cost might not be too much, but it’s not _necessary_ either. They own them, but like most things nowadays, only use them on odd occasions when they have to.

Steve shakes his head. “No.” Bucky might have to work down at the docks tomorrow, but he doesn’t have anything to do that requires him to leave the apartment. He can sleep a little messy if it means he doesn’t have to move to get up and get their rubbers- although once Bucky pats his thigh to lift up a little so he can push down the waist of his underwear enough for his cock to spring free, that suggests there’s a lot more movement to come. 

He’s pretty well acquainted with all of Bucky’s body by now, but that doesn’t stop him from going practically dizzy when Bucky’s now bared dick presses up against him. Bucky’s still busy smearing slick over Steve’s hole and then himself, but eventually-

Bucky’s voice is raspy enough to make Steve almost want to shudder, although that might be because of the blunt head of him bumping at his body as well. “C’mon and sit down on me now, Stevie. Fill yourself up for me, go on.” 

With a groan and grip to Bucky’s side, careful to mind the marks from his earlier match, Steve does, slowly sinking down and drawing Bucky deeper and deeper until his dick is fully seated inside. Once it is, they both sit still for a moment, breathing the only thing breaking the silence between them. Bucky’s the first to speak as Steve is still struggling to regain his senses enough to even _think._ Christ, he’s thick. 

“Feel so good around me,” he murmurs, one hand back around Steve’s cock while the other spans big across the small of his back like he’s holding him up on both sides. Steve’s skinny enough for that to be easy. “Always so damn _good._ ”

For all that he’d nodded off earlier, right now Steve feels more awake than he has all week, especially when he first shifts and feels Bucky rub up firm inside him. He inhales shakily, heart racing so much he’d be worried if not for the fact he knows Bucky is always careful not to let this hurt him. Bucky shushes him, smoothing up and down his back until Steve finds it in him to croak back an answer. 

“God,” he breathes, so broken it might as well be a gasp. “ _God_ , Buck.” It’s not very coherent, but it’s enough to make Bucky let out a loose chuckle. 

“Nah, just me,” he quips, still the same jerk Steve fell in love with even six inches inside him. “But I’ll take that as a compliment.” He presses his fingers into the bottom of Steve’s spine, where Steve knows he can probably feel it go crooked higher up. His grin goes about the same angle. “You ready to ride, cowboy?”

Steve makes a noise that’s supposed to be a groan, but comes out as more of a whine when Bucky resettles his hips underneath him enough to shove that little bit deeper inside. “How many times are you gonna try and use those lines on me?”

“I ain’t fixing it if it’s not broke,” Bucky shoots back, stroking over his cock a quick few times just to make Steve shiver. “And you’re about to fuck yourself on my cock, so I’d say there’s no cause for me to change.” 

“Maybe I should fix it for you,” Steve grumbles, but he’s not about to get off Bucky’s cock unless he’s getting off _on_ it. Which he will be, once he starts to move, but he has to squint at the man down below and tell him something first. “You’re a jerk.”

“And you’re a punk,” Bucky responds. “You need me to say pretty please or what, sweetheart?”

Steve doesn’t. He digs his hands into Bucky’s sides, same as he’d done during the massage earlier, letting that give him the leverage he needs to slowly raise himself up only to sink straight back down and start riding Bucky as was requested. It takes him a while to find the proper rhythm, but Bucky’s gentle as he guides him through it even as he’s laid back lazy, and for once Steve lets him help without complaint. 

It could be the cock inside him, or maybe just the combination of the rough weeks they’ve both had, but Steve is more than happy to ride the high of the feeling as much as he’s riding his boyfriend underneath him. Bucky, for one, seems happy enough just to sit back and watch it happen. Power drunk, like Steve said. Getting his way, because _either_ way, he’s still getting Steve. 

He’s adoring, but he’s also a smug asshole well aware that Steve is bull headed enough to put in the worship that’s expected when he feels this way. Steve should’ve seen this coming when Bucky called himself the champion earlier- not that that’s not true. Bucky is a champion. _His_ champion, always trying to take care of him even when it hurts. Steve loves him so much that there might not even be words to describe it, but he tries to get it across with his eyes as well as he can while Bucky’s so deep inside him. 

Their gazes are locked, and Bucky’s lips turn up in something that Steve suspects is understanding. His next words don’t leave much more room to wonder. “My guy,” he says softly, eyes shining like Steve’s dick isn’t slapping against his own stomach up above him with every move he makes. “Always making sure I’m taken care of too, huh?” Steve almost tries to protest, but Bucky shakes his head before he can cut in. “Know you don’t think it’s the same, but we don’t have to _be_ the same for both of us to make ends meet, Stevie.” He tries to go on, but groans first when Steve hits a particularly good angle and clenches up around his cock. “You take care of me just as much as you let me do you.”

Something swells up in Steve that’s more than just arousal- awe, maybe, at how Bucky’s able to hit everything Steve needed to hear him say without Steve having to say a word. Affection at the fact he said it in the first place. Regardless, whatever it is, Steve has trouble swallowing it down to get out words of his own. “How about I let you do me now?” he jokes. The _I love you_ he wants to say can wait. 

The way Bucky’s eyes crinkle up lets him know he still hears it, but he lets him lighten the mood anyways, laughing and taking in the way Steve is still working himself on his lap hungrily. “I guess I do feel pretty rested up,” he muses. 

Steve’s feeling hot enough, but hope warms his belly at Bucky’s tone as well. “Yeah? You gonna put all those big muscles to use?” He’s fishing. They both know it. 

Bucky snorts and strokes over his cock again just to watch him sigh and close his eyes the next time he shifts his hips down to drag him in deeper. “There you go trying to butter me up again.”

Same as earlier, Steve leans down to kiss him. “Is it working?”

Bucky grins. “Doesn’t it always?” That’s all he gives Steve time to register before he’s grabbing his hips and gently rolling them over so that the sight Steve next takes in is that of Bucky hovering over top him, hand rubbing down his thigh. “This position okay for your back?” There _he_ goes fussing again. 

Steve nods, wiggling down so that Bucky’s cock nudges against what he knows is the spot right near his prostate. “It’s good. Promise.” He’s telling the truth, for once. The blanket is pretty bunched up beneath him, and it’s not like he’s this easily breakable. 

Or maybe he is- because when Steve gives him that go ahead, Bucky takes it in stride, and next thing Steve knows, the other man is practically pounding him into the mattress with all the muscles Steve had tended to earlier in the night. 

Considering it’s pretty _late_ in the night now, he tries to muffle out his moaning best he can, but Bucky makes that pretty hard to do when every movement inside is hitting straight against his sweet spot. Now it’s Steve’s turn to lay there and take it, but he’s not as laid back as Bucky had been. Instead, he bites into the nearest shoulder he can find, effectively smothering the sounds. 

Bucky hisses a bit at the sting, but it’s the kind they both like, so his body doesn’t slow. His words come out a bit sluggish, though that might just be from how satisfied sinking into Steve always gets him. “You were asking if I fought a mountain lion earlier but it feels like I’ve got an alley cat in my bed,” he says. “Gonna get your claws in me next, kitty?”

Steve, for all that he’s been minding Bucky’s soreness tonight, _has_ to smack him at that. Cowboy is bad enough. _Kitty_ is out of the question. “How about you keep getting your dick in me and we call it a night?”

Bucky noses a kiss into his hair, sweaty and strung together across his forehead in its usual fringe. “Deal.” Then, hips starting to hit harder, “Don’t hold back, babydoll. I’ve got you.”

With how tired they both are and how long they’ve drawn this out already, it doesn’t take much longer for both of them to manage to find both their releases- Steve getting his first, right hand fisting around his cock, then Bucky second, still seated deep inside him. They’re by some miracle only seconds apart, groans mixing together as they both ride it out and then finally still their bodies and allow them to rest. 

If Bucky were with a bigger man, he might collapse right on top, but as conditions are- he slips out almost as soon as Steve lets him, nodding into his neck when he whispers the question quietly into the space between them. Bucky kicks off his underwear and collapses instead onto the mattress next to him, but that’s more than okay since it gives Steve the ability to snuggle right up against his side. 

They’re now _both_ sweaty. Bucky still doesn’t smell the greatest. Steve’s got come cooling on his stomach and the insides of his thighs. But they take the moment together anyways, putting off cleaning up in favor of cooling down. 

The afterglow is interrupted when Bucky groans, thick thighs spreading wide until he’s sprawled out over both sides of the bed with Steve tucked up against his chest. It’s a bit indecent, but how comfortable he looks has something in Steve settling inside. 

He’s here. Home. _Safe._ Steve is helping him stay that way. He wonders in the back of his mind if this is how Bucky feels when he fusses or sees Steve pick a fight that they both know he’ll have to finish. In the front, he feels Bucky hum into his hair, both arms hugged around him. 

“You ready to go to bed now or do _you_ need a backrub now?” he says, stroking a hand up his spine. “Boxing regimen might be the toughest there is, but I’d still say I worked you over pretty good.”

“There you go getting a big head again.” Steve’s words come out sleepy, yawning shortly after. He is beat, but his back feels fine. He personally feels pretty great, even if he is a bit weak in the knees from the fucking and probably remnants of the fever that have yet to fade. That problem is solvable, though. “You gonna carry me to wash up or do I gotta walk there myself, champion?”

Snorting, Bucky shifts and sits up until he has an arm under Steve’s knees and the other draped under his side. “You gonna slap me if I do?”

Steve pretends to consider. “Not this time, no.” Then, as Bucky’s preparing to lift him, “Love you, Buck. Real glad you made it home.”

Bucky kisses his hair, bare feet hitting the floor that creaks underneath them as he carries Steve across the room, for once without a complaint. “I’m always gonna keep coming home to you,” he whispers. “Love you back, Steve.”

Both of them know they can’t say what the future will hold, fights or otherwise, let alone promise they’ll unfold like they want- because when has the world even given them what they want outside of each other? But Steve believes him. He knows Bucky wouldn’t lie. He’ll keep trying to come home, and Steve will be here to help take care when he does. That’s enough. Everything with Bucky is. 

Steve must go drifting again, because Bucky’s mouth on his temple after their little trip is over takes him by surprise. “Hey, sweetheart,” he murmurs, starting to set him back down on the floor. “You with me?”

The question isn’t meant to mean more than what’s happening in the moment, but Steve smiles and gives him a heartfelt answer anyways. “Always.”

Bucky smiles back in a way that makes it clear he _gets_ it, gets _Steve,_ and Steve’s heart feels so full it could burst. Bucky’s always got him- his next words confirm exactly that.

“Always indeed.”

**Author's Note:**

> comments & kudos are what keeps the content coming, so feel free to spare what you can! feedback is my favorite. i’m not above begging. as usual, i hope you enjoyed. stay safe & see you next time around.


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